


Midnights at the Bamboo Room

by amhrancas



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, Kanjani8 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Sci-Fi, old fic is old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2018-10-16 10:44:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10569693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amhrancas/pseuds/amhrancas
Summary: Set roughly over a period of ten years, the lives of three young men living in the Galactic Federation of Planets change and intersect with each other in different ways.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2012 edition of je_otherworlds. Thanks to joce and to diefleder_tey for beta and support during meltdowns. This was my first attempt at anything remotely sci-fi and I'm afraid it shows quite a lot here. I apologize profusely to anyone actually in the fields of Astrophysics, Astronomy, Computer Sciences, Botany, and Chemistry- I’m pretty sure I’ve butchered all of your fields.

_Yoko_

  
“JN41N. Davenport!”  
  
A shrill voice filled the cavernous hall and echoed exactly one time before stopping completely, an acoustic phenomenon of the building that never failed to amuse the young private surrounded by his peers. They were all waiting to hear their names called out in the same manner and a subtle current of tension mixed with excitement was in the air. Long fingers ran through black, brushed-back hair as their owner resisted the urge to slouch forward in his chair, forearms on knees; both actions nervous tells of his. He instead focused his attention on watching the young man, Davenport, rise from his seat and move to the open processing window.  
  
Even though Yoko had just completed sixteen weeks of basic training with everyone there, he was still overwhelmed at the sheer size of the outgoing class of privates graduating into the Galactic Federation Military Guard and Active Forces. Size notwithstanding, everything about the building’s layout and staff screamed of stark, no-frills efficiency. Yoko couldn’t help but recall a scene from some novel he’d had to read for a high school classical literature course about stockyards in industrial America. He squirmed a little in his seat as another private was cleared through processing and joined the medical queue, ready to be the next animal inspected and inoculated before being shipped out to slaughter.  
  
Shaking that image out of his head just as quickly as it had popped in, he decided instead to try and guess each private’s new branch of service— and, following that, where they might be heading off to. A couple of brawny graduates made their way towards the medical line and Yoko could only imagine from their grim expressions that they were Infantry and likely headed toward the outer bands of the galaxy.  
  
Even though the Federation was officially in the midst of an 86 year long period of peace, there had been recent reports coming up through personal communication channels that hinted at rising disquiet along the distant reaches of the Perseus bands. Truth be told, it was hard to tell exactly what the conditions that far out beyond the frontier boundaries were like— even more so with the Federation’s ever-efficient tightening of the communication networks and filters throughout the galaxy.  
  
Yoko caught the eye of the man at the back of the line as he nervously glanced at the room of privates still waiting for out-processing. A flicker of recognition flashed across both their eyes before he turned back to move forward with the line.  
  
“ _Jansen,_ ” Yoko thought to himself as he registered the face. He was a kid out of the Rasalhague regions, always cracking jokes about everything and anything. They’d played on the same team for a couple rounds of pick-up basketball during some of their earlier recreation times; back before they started splitting into their more specialized training units.  
  
Wherever they were heading, Yoko silently wished them well on their journey, knowing he had managed to dodge that proverbial bullet in the assignment pool. Granted, his particular branch of service wasn’t the best in the Federation Forces by far, but for a kid coming fresh out of the orphanage system, a spot in the Federation’s Military Guard was pretty decent post. And maybe he didn’t have a whole lot of textbook knowledge, but Yoko figured what he lacked there he more than made up for with street smarts. After all, no one managed to get through the Child Welfare and Management System with a spotless record unless they were just short of a genius. Yoko smirked at that thought as the next soldier on the roster was called up to the checkpoint.  
  
“KT45U. Yokoyama!” A deep voice bellowed the serial number and name from an open gate almost directly in front of him.  
  
“Sir!” Yoko responded as he snapped to attention, scooping up his duffel and travel kit as he made his way to the counter to present his identification chip for scanning. The Lieutenant behind the counter didn’t even bother to look up at his face while he passed the scanner over Yoko’s upturned forearm. A sharp but short beep sounded and Yoko’s medical and course history was displayed on the panel in front of him as the officer began affixing the necessary digital stamps and visas to his passport file and marking the vaccinations that would be required at Yoko’s next checkpoint.  
  
“When was your last Tetanus and Anthrax booster, Yokoyama?”  
  
“Three years ago for the Tetanus, Sir, and six months for the Anthrax booster.” Yoko nervously swallowed at the ever growing list of medical criteria he would have to clear at the next station— almost all of them requiring needles. He could already feel a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead and body and he tried to redirect his thoughts by bitching to himself about how everyone in these queues always asks stupid questions when they already have all the information in the files right in front of them. Was it really that difficult to—  
  
“Date of birth?”  
  
“May 9, 2381, Sir.”  
  
“May—” The Lieutenant finally looked up at this, squinting his eyes a bit as they refocused on the face before him. “Well, Happy Birthday, Private Yokoyama.” He finished stamping all the files and proceeded to upload the new data onto Yoko’s chip. “I hope you like flying; you’re up for a long haul.”  
  
“Sir?” Yoko questioned in turn, eyebrow rising in poorly veiled curiosity. “How long exactly, can you say? Where are my orders to?”  
  
“You’re going home, Yokoyama. Back to the motherland. You’ll be out on a 3 and a half year tour; six months of that for the journey there, of course.”  
  
Yoko blinked a couple of times, his brow furrowing in concentration as he took the news in.  
  
“Home, Sir? You mean Earth? They’re sending me to Earth?” Yoko’s needle anxiety was instantly launched far out of his mind by his sudden rush of excitement.  
  
“Correct, Private. You’re being assigned to 6739Delta4, in an area formerly known as Wyoming. All required reading and data has been uploaded into your memory files. The programs will auto run while you’re in hibernation on the journey there.” He flashed a thin smile at Yoko as he closed out the files on his screen reader. “You’ve made it to 20 kid, now do me a favor and don’t do anything stupid so you can make it to 21, okay?”  
  
“Sir. Yes, Sir!” Yoko replied as he flashed a salute before gathering up his bags and heading to the medical check post.  
  
_“Earth,”_ Yoko thought while letting out a ragged breath, allowing his excitement to momentarily get the better of him. _“This assignment officially has the potential to become the best job ever.”_  


 

o≒〇:･*o。゜

__  
  
_Subaru_  
  
__ If there was one thing Shibutani Subaru had learned while growing up in the mining caravans of the Kuiper belt, it was that you could never trust anyone- not even yourself. Before he was older than four, he’d seen his father’s best friend slice into the back of his protective suit while they were exploring for platinum deposits on one of the larger asteroids near their camp. The haul off that rock alone would have brought in enough profit to feed both families for years. Instead Subaru had watched his father die, unable to stop it or do anything other than cry out from behind the safety of the thick windows of the transport module he had stowed away on. Neither his father nor his murderer had known that Subaru was there. He had hidden on board, wanting to both watch his father work and surprise him with the peanut butter and jelly sandwich he’d made for him for lunch.  
  
  
By the time he was 5, Subaru was known as the best runner the Cobalt Dragons had ever had. There was no bust Subaru couldn’t beat, no drop he could be caught making. A scrawny and quiet kid with hair too-long and wide eyes that saw everything. He poured all his effort into making a name for himself among the Dragons— the same organization that had worked his mother to death just a few months after his father’s death. The same organization Subaru would bring down fourteen years later in a case referred to by humans Federation-wide as the greatest mob bust since the glory days of the United States’ FBI and CIA in the mid-20th century. Subaru had happily laid the wire works and hacked the encryption sequences he himself had set up for the crime syndicate. No one in the Dragons had expected the heir to their chief security position to betray them, which had made the takedown that much more beautiful.  
  
The Federation wasted no time whisking Subaru away before anyone remotely connected with the Cobalt Dragons could even realize that the Shibutani Subaru listed in protective custody somewhere in the vicinity of 55 Cancri was nothing more than a decoy. No, by the time that Shibutani Subaru, né Federation Inmate HI6K1-8GI, was discovered and eliminated, the real Subaru had long-since disappeared and had been running wires and interference for the Feds for two years.  
  
Most of what Subaru knew he had picked up piecemeal over the years since the Dragons had never bothered to teach him more than just what he needed to know to get by. The Federation certainly hadn’t been expecting much from the short, overly silent 16 year-old when he contacted them for the first time in 2387— but what they discovered was nothing short of a prodigy. Agent Kusanagi— the man whose career Subaru had made when he chose to use him to take out the Dragons— had been utterly amazed by him. Languages, glyphs, computer networks, encryption sequences— there was nothing he couldn’t crack with a little bit of time alone to work. By the time he was 23, he had a small but comfortable flat overlooking the Triangulum Galaxy most days of the year.  
  
This, however, was not one of those days.  
  
Apparently it was time for the apartment cruiser to make an inspection run out to the nearest Federation hub. Subaru jerked awake from the spot where he had fallen asleep a few hours earlier— having essentially faceplanted in front of his computer display. It took him a second to realize that he’d been jostled awake by the sudden firing of the starboard quarter thrusters, located just a few floors beneath his rooms. Leaning back in his desk chair, he absently swatted at a post-it note that had happily affixed itself to the side of his face during his nap. A glance at his monitor’s readout told him that the decryption sequence he was testing out still had a few more minutes on its run.  
  
“Shower,” he mumbled to himself before rubbing his hands over his face again and blinking owlishly a few times out the window. “Shower and coffee.”  
  
Ten minutes later a slightly more awake and caffeinated Subaru reclaimed his seat in front of his desk and opened up the program results. A boyishly smug smile played across his face as he read that every script he had thrown at the program had cracked almost painlessly. There were still a couple of glitches in the translations, but those were likely due to the archaic roots of his cipher source material— nothing that wouldn’t be worked out with a few real-world translation scenarios. He fired off a quick message to Kusanagi with a copy of the program attached so that work could get started on their end with the linguistic expansions it needed.  
  
Subaru glanced over at the star chart on the wall above his monitor. They were still close enough to the Perseus frontier to possibly pick up a few Centauran transmissions. He didn’t even hesitate before reaching over and flipping on his scanners, coding them to search for the newly developed sequences. He knew that the Federation had been facing an increase in small uprising on the outer belts the past few years. Granted— outside of a small network of government officials and the military personnel actually stationed inside the conflict zones— Subaru had been one of the few people in the Federation to even know that it was not, in fact, as peaceful as the Feds would like the rest of the galaxy to think. . The suppression of all data pertaining to these uprisings— and how the Federation was tending to them— was a matter Subaru had been personally assigned to seen to. After all— this was why the Feds kept him on their payroll; if they wanted something to disappear, Subaru made it disappear.  
  
The addition of his new codes would only help to make his job that much easier, as he could now break through a number of Centauran Nomad dialects previously undecipherable before. It was a hush-hush project— with Subaru reporting only to Kusanagi— the agent had sounded very pleased when Subaru had mentioned the possibility of wrapping things up and testing it tonight. After all, its successful implementation could ensure his footing for high-ranking positions within the Federation government. The prospects for the trial were looking good and it didn’t take long before the first hits started pinging back and Subaru settled in for some information mining.  
  
The initial pingbacks started rolling in at a steady but brisk clip leading Subaru to think he had maybe found his way into a conference call of sorts. But the rate and the intensity of the vocal pitch transmitting across the airwaves combined told him that it was something much worse, even before the translation program had the first sentences calibrated. It took less than five minutes for him to realize the gravity of the situation he had just walked into.  
  
Apparently the Federation had decided that they had had enough of playing soldier with the nomads and that it was time to bring this headache to an end. Typically, an action this large would have had Subaru on-line hours ahead of its launch— intercepting any incoming and outgoing transmissions to ensure a state of broadcast silence. The fact that he hadn’t been notified of this mission bothered him, and a sense of uneasiness washed over him as he began thinking through any and all possible worst-case scenarios for this. Technically what he was doing— hacking into Federation channels, tampering with Federation communiques— any number of other tasks which would make up a solid case for treason against the Federation if it weren’t for the fact that he was working for the Federation.  
  
...for one man in the Federation. One very power-hungry man in the Federation with a history of approving any number of potentially treasonous activities, of which Subaru was the only one to know anything about.  
  
“Shit.” Subaru quickly began running his back-out sequences and amped up his personal signal jammers. Kusanagi hadn’t had him working on it or let him know because the Feds were already gonna be all over every possible frequency coming out of and going into the offensive zone. Judging by the ship’s current distance from the hub and the amount of a head-start Subaru knew he had on them, he figured he could have his trail completely eliminated before the Feds ever had solid evidence that he had so much as thought the word “Centaurian,” let alone accidentally found himself smack in the middle of an intragalactic genocide mission. Whatever game Kusanagi was playing with him— if he was playing one— Subaru was going to make damn sure that it wasn’t gonna be this that he got taken down for.  
  
“Unless...”  
  
Subaru froze as the teeth of the standard-issue tazer dug sharply into the back of his neck, realization setting in a moment too late. Unless they were already waiting for him.  
  
“Mr. Shibutani,” a cold voice cut through the sudden silence in the room. “Raise your hands slowly and place them on top of your head.” In the monitor’s reflection Subaru could see at least 3 other agents file into the room, all of them with their weapons drawn. As he followed the command and lifted his arms he saw a fourth, familiar silhouette enter the room.  
  
“Kusanagi,” Subaru growled out before the shock of the tazer dropped him to the floor.  
  
“Good-bye, Shibutani.”

  
  
o≒〇:･*o。゜

__  
  
_Yoko_  
  
__ For someone who had spent a good half of his life floating around outer space in varying degrees, Yoko was the first person to admit that his fear of flying did seem pretty irrational. Although if he really argued the particulars of it, it was less the “flying” and more the “hurtling towards the ground at high-velocity in what amounted to little more than a giant, over-stuffed, carbon-fiber bean bag” aspect of it that bothered him. And really, even then it was more the “slamming into the ground and splattering all over” that was the root of the issue, and who could blame a man for being afraid of dying? Not Yoko, that was for sure. But rather than dwell on that pleasant image, Yoko instead focused on all the various clicks and pops of the depressurization system working as the high-altitude descent cruiser packed snugly with both him and the outpost’s supplies for the next six months piloted its way down to the landing strip.  
  
After the controlled chaos and overpopulation of his training classes, Yoko figured that the transition to a smaller unit would take some time to get used to - but at the same time it was something he was actively looking forward to. From what he’d learned before leaving the crew transport, his new supervisor was a Sergeant Nagase, originally from out by the Cygnus cluster. Yoko was to make sure that he received the latest telecom system upgrades as well as see to the replacement of all outdated personal protective equipment once they had everything unloaded and squared away.  
  
A series of beeps from the cruiser console indicated that he would be landing shortly, and Yoko unconsciously braced for impact, relieved when the vessel rolled to a gentle stop and began running its shutdown sequence. After an “all clear” was chimed, Yoko unfastened his seat belts and once again checked to make sure his breathing respirator and hazmat coveralls were properly sealed before disengaging the door locks and releasing the hatch. A blast of hot air greeted him, wind kicking up loose-flying sand and blowing it all over the interior of the cabin. Standing off to the side of the runway was a tall man in standard-issue fatigues, insignia glinting in the midday light. Yoko snapped to attention and promptly saluted the Sergeant who readily did the same in return before making his way over to help with unpacking the craft.  
  
“Yokoyama, I assume?” The man’s voice was deep, and somewhat muffled by the respirator he was wearing. Yoko nodded and accepted the man’s offered hand, shaking it in return.  
  
“Yes, sir. And you would be Sergeant Nagase, then? It’s very nice to meet you.”  
  
“Likewise. It’ll take a bit of getting used to I’m sure, but welcome to Earth, Private.”  
  
After several trips back and forth to the bunkers, the two men had cleared all the stock off of the transporter and were making the last trip with Yoko’s personal gear. The lack of any other soldiers had piqued Yoko’s interest and he decided to ask about their whereabouts.  
  
“Sergeant Nagase, may I ask where the others are today? Are they out on assignment?”  
  
Nagase half-turned in his gait so he could better read Yoko’s expression. “Others? Were you expecting more people to be assigned out here? I hate to possibly break your heart so soon Yokoyama, but we’re it. There is no other crew for this post.”  
  
“I’m sorry, what?” Yoko froze mid-step, allowing his duffle to slide off his shoulder and fall to the tarmac below. “How is tha— I mean— It’s not even possible for a two-person crew to maintain this post and provide security for the nearby mining communities. Are there others coming still?”  
  
“Sorry, kid. But it sounds like the briefing files you were given for this assignment might be about ten years out-of-date. The Neptune hub office closed down the mining operations for this region and pulled their crews out years ago. We’re just out here to chase off whatever scavengers try to lift the equipment for black market resale.”  
  
“So it’s just the two of us here then, Sir?” Yoko repeated, more for his own benefit than for any other reason, trying to shake off the sudden rock of uneasiness that had formed in his stomach. Saying the words out loud seemed to help the reality of the situation sink in some more.  
  
“Well, sort of.” Nagase reached down and picked up Yoko’s duffle for him, slinging it across his own back as they finished walking to the barracks.  
  
“Um,” Yoko hesitated a moment, wondering if he actually wanted to know the answer to his next question. “What do you mean by ‘sort of,’ Sir?”  
  
“I mean, Yokoyama, that you’re not here to join me; you’re here to replace me. Once I get you all trained up I’m on the next ride out of here.” The Sergeant couldn’t help but choke back a laugh at the utterly distraught expression on what could be seen of Yoko’s face behind his goggles. He imagined that behind the respirator his mouth was hanging open in disbelief, too. “If it makes you feel any better, this was exactly how I found out about the job when I transferred out here four years ago. Welcome to Earth, kid.”  
  
“No,” Yoko thought as the weight of everything started to settle down on him. “No, it certainly does not.” This was officially the worst job ever.  
__  
__

  
o≒〇:･*o。゜

__  
  
_Subaru_  
  
__ The thick titanium door slid into place behind him with an almost silent whoosh. Subaru toed off his sneakers before taking two steps forward and rolling down onto his cot, sprawling out on his back as he stared up into the darkness of the three-by-four meter cell. It had been just over a year since Kusanagi had turned on Subaru and he had yet to shake free of the control he had over him.  
  
By now it had became a sort of comedy of errors to Subaru— Kusanagi had done everything in his power to erase Subaru’s existence from the Fed’s history, going so far as to arrange for his transfer to one of the best detention centers in the galaxy. The last time Subaru had seen Kusanagi’s face had been the day he entered that facility. The Fed agent had smiled menacingly as he assured Subaru that after his in-processing was complete, any record of his ever having been placed there would be erased forever. “Shibutani Subaru” would cease to exist forever; he would be nothing more than a number— easily wiped out with a single keystroke.  
  
But he hadn’t been erased. At least not yet. Subaru hadn’t even been locked away for a full year before he was dragged out of his bed one morning and thrown into another room— this one filled with computers and a variety of audio devices. It took all of a few seconds for him to figure out what was happening. He stood there in the room, hands in his pants pockets while rocking back on his heels for a minute before asking to no one specifically, “Where’s Kusanagi?”  
  
“He’s not here, but he did send you a message...”  
  
The trace had been simple enough. Run a line on the Denebola Embassy with output re-routed to the a Fed cruiser patrolling the area. Subaru could have just as easily told them to take their offer and shove it, but he’d missed being able to work, and grunt work for some asshole Fed was better than no work at all. He had known the second he’d heard the offer that Kusanagi was lying about actually releasing him. There was no way he would let go of an asset like him. And sure enough— the day after the job was completed, he had been shipped off to another detention center— which was fine with him. He was perfectly content to bide his time waiting.  
  
A quick rap against his door brought Subaru back to the present and he glanced over in time to see a hand wave past the small window set into it.  
  
“‘Night, Shibutani.” The guard’s voice called out as he continued past, making his rounds for the evening.  
“And see? This was exactly what Kusanagi hadn’t counted on,” Subaru thought as he returned to staring up into the darkness. “People are curious. You give them an invisible man, kept locked away from everyone else, a man who doesn’t exist— and they’re always gonna want to know the story on it.” So all Subaru had to do was dangle little bits of information in front of the guards and eventually they all bit. All he had to do was wait.

  
  
o≒〇:･*o。゜

__  
  
_Yoko_  
  
__ “Here—” Nagase tossed what looked to be a stripped-down respirator pack to Yoko shortly after they had finished distributing all the supplies and returned to the barracks. “These older models work a lot better than the crap they’re sending out these days. And they won’t give you those bruises on your nose either.”  
  
Yoko eyed the respirator with mild disgust. The thing had to be at least as old as he was, and besides— part of his orders when he came down here was to make sure that equipment like this wasn’t being used anymore.  
  
“But Sir, I was told when I left the transpor— wait, what bruises?” Yoko immediately reached up and felt around his nose as he looked around the room for anything that could serve as a mirror. Spying one through a doorway that lead to the bathroom he stuck his head in and saw a tell-tale redness spread out across the bridge of his nose and under the inside corners of his eyes. By tomorrow morning he would look like the pictures of raccoons he had seen while in school. “Aww man-!” His frustrated whine carried into the other room and Nagase laughed. “I don’t get it,” Yoko groaned. “When we wore these in training they never did this.”  
  
“Yeah, and in training you had them on for what- six hours tops, maybe? I reckon you’ve had that one on for a good 14 hours now? So yeah, definitely gonna have bruising. They never test these things for more than an eight hour run, and even then never for multiple days in a row. The filters in them aren’t ventilated properly and take forever to dry out— at least two days, so if you do end up wearing it back-to-back, which you will— you wind up constantly breathing in swampy air. Fortunately, the new filter refills they sent fit the old masks just fine, so we just swap them out.” Nagase glanced up from the box he was unpacking to see Yoko staring horrified at his newer-model mask as he held it dangling by a strap between two fingers.  
  
“Swampy air, sir?” Nagase swore that he looked like he wanted to cry and decided that this whole “training a replacement” thing was going to be better than he’d initially thought.  
  
“Yeah but look at it this way.” He got up and walked over to slap an arm around Yoko’s shoulders. “That’s just up here where there’s no humidity. Just imagine if you were one of those poor saps stationed down in Brazil or out on Dangeon— that entire planet is a swamp. And the ones they sent out before these? Didn’t seal properly at all. We had people tearing up and dropping left and right after the first day from Hydrogen sulfide exposure. It was days before we could get any work done.”  
  
Yoko closed his eyes and took a steadying breath before setting both of the masks down and beginning to unpack the rest of his stuff. He decided that he’d just worry about those tomorrow.  
  
The next morning after a rousing meal of powdered eggs, powdered grits, and powdered ham— which Yoko had decided long ago to never, ever actually think about beyond it being a protein provided for his diet— they started out for the morning rounds. After convincing Yoko that he did not, in fact, need to wear a full-coverage hazmat suit— that just the respirator and goggles would be fine— Nagase keyed-open the pressure lock on the barracks antechamber. Once again Yoko was almost knocked over by the hot, dry winds that blasted through the open doors, bringing with them clouds of flying dirt and sand.  
  
“Is it always so hot and windy here, Sir?” Yoko asked as they made their way around the various buildings and storage units of the outpost.  
  
“What’s the matter, Yokoyama?” Nagase laughed. “Weather not what you had expected? Go ahead and have a shot at closing up those gates. You remember the sequencing from yesterday?”  
  
Yoko nodded and punched in a series of keys on the water reservoir’s entrance panel, clumsily mistyping the sequence a couple of times before the display readout background changed to yellow and a set of heavy gates began grinding slowly into place.  
  
“I remember mention of the winds in the briefing material I was given for the trip here. They’re the primary energy source for everything out here, right? I just never thought it was this bad. Also, I’m pretty sure that I never read anything about it getting above 12° C in summer here since the storms hit.”  
  
“Twelve?” Nagase scoffed. “Sure, maybe 50 years ago. Honestly, I think we’ve hit 27 every summer since 2392, and I know that the last four years that I’ve been here we’ve had a few days at 32. But don’t worry, you’ll be snowed-in up to your eyeballs for a good 3-4 months come winter, if that helps any.”  
  
“Sno—” a weak whine came from Yoko before he cut it off and quietly nodded instead. Truth-be-told, he was beginning to think that those guys in Infantry may have been the ones who were better off.

  
  
o≒〇:･*o。゜

__  
  
_Maru_  
  
__ Nagata Eiji had seen more than his fair share of bright and gifted scholars move through the labs and boardrooms of a number of the Federation’s Ministry of Science programs, only to have them stagnate and close-off under the bureaucratic pressures imposed on them and their research. Enough so that when he had been approached 15 years ago by the small and unaffiliated Moto Technologies Institute, he wasted no time tendering his resignation and parting ways with the Federation. Everyone else may have thought he was nuts to chase what they called a “pipe dream,” but he had figured that at 56 years old, the fact alone that he still had a dream or desire to work was something that couldn’t be ignored.  
  
Now it was his turn to see if that desire would be shared today. Nagata slid the door to the lecture hall as quietly as possible— ignoring a few speculative glances from a few students nearby— and slipped into a chair in the back of the room. There were only a few minutes left in the class period and by the way the kids in the room had already began to power-off their tablets and rustle through knapsacks— antsy to start their extended weekend break no doubt— he could tell that not much had changed in the decades since he had been the one fidgeting in the student’s seat.  
  
Nagata half-listened to the ongoing presentation as he scrolled back through his files for today’s meeting. Maruyama Ryuhei was a promising research fellow at one of the top institutes in the galaxy, having been educated at a number of prestigious academies during his youth due to multiple relocations afforded by his mother’s position with the Federation. He had been exposed to more cultures and climates by the time he was ten than Nagata had in the first 50 years of his life, all courtesy of the Office of Intragalactic Embassies.  
  
Ambassador Maruyama was elegant, gracious, efficient, and quite easily the most intimidating being Nagata had ever encountered. Their family was old— one of the first to develop colonies beyond the Solar System at the start of the 22nd Century— and incredibly powerful. A gift or a threat from the Maruyama family was something to be handled with utmost care and attention, making her a factor not to be overlooked in this interview.  
  
“...and so you see,” the young teaching assistant continued on, turning a deaf ear to the rising commotion being made by the students. “The near-passing of the a rogue planet in 2287 disrupted the gravitational balance of the Kuiper Belt first, and then shortly thereafter that of the main belt, ultimately dislodging thousands of asteroids from their orbital patterns and sending them cruising out into the rest of the solar system. It didn’t take long for the surrounding planets to start feeling the all-too-real fallout of this event.” The plasma sketch he made to illustrate the event was a little crude by textbook standards, but still adequate to get the point across.  
  
“After the final major asteroid storm in December, 2296, rebuilding the populations of Earth became an idea which was tossed around every generation or so, but for any number of reasons it was also an idea that failed to take off just as many times—” The high peal of a bell indicated the close of the period and students began leaving their seats and heading out the doors. “Reasons which,” the teacher’s voice began escalating in volume to better be heard as he pushed slightly too-long bangs back out of his eyes, “are outlined in your syllabus.”  
  
“And hey! That last part there— that’s all gonna be worth double points on the test next Tuesday!” he hollered above the din of the exodus before sinking down into his chair and lightly smacking his forehead a few times in succession against some books scattered across the desktop.  
  
“Mr. ...Maruyama?” An unfamiliar voice hesitantly asked and Maruyama lifted his head enough to rest his chin on the desk, puppy dog eyes now turned toward his guest.  
  
“Sir, do students ever actually listen to anything they hear in class?” Maru asked despondently before standing up to properly greet the gentleman, brushing off his sweaty hands on his rumpled shirt sleeves as he rolled them back down to his wrists.  
  
“Mr. Maruyama.” Nagata gently took a sip of the tea offered to him as they re-seated themselves at the desk. “It is my understanding that you’ve recently applied for a number of research positions specializing in biotechnology, and that you’re allowing your fellowship here to expire at the end of the semester.”  
  
“Yes, Sir. That’s correct.” Maru sat stock-straight in his chair, hands resting in his lap while the fingers of his right hand played nervously with the frayed edge of his shirt cuff. Nagata couldn’t help but think he looked exactly like a little kid anticipating a punishment for pulling some irresponsible prank, and his tone softened a bit at the image.  
  
“It is also my understanding that you have already been accepted by the Ministry of Science’s main center for research in the Aquila-Sag sector of Carina-Sagittarius.” Maru’s eyes quickly darted down, focusing on his hands for a second and then shifting to the side, a wry smile playing on his lips.  
  
“This is also correct, Sir.” Maru had been anticipating this— this was where the letdown came. No one ever counter-offered the Ministry of Science, especially when the prospective employee was as well-connected in the Federation as he was. It just wasn’t something that was done.  
  
Fortunately, MotoTech was apparently the farthest thing from a sane company as one could get in this day-and-age. “And you have yet to accept this offer, correct?”  
  
Maru’s eyes shot up to meet Nagata’s, surprise evident on his face. This was decidedly not the direction any of his other interviews had gone and it seemed as though Nagata knew it. A flash of hope crossed Maru’s face before he schooled it into an expression of mild curiosity as he responded. “This is also correct.”  
  
“Is that so?” Nagata took another sip of his tea before settling back in his chair a bit. Maru picked up on the change in formality and relaxed his shoulders some. “Interesting. So, Mr. Maruyama, I am to believe from the research prospectus you submitted to us last year that you have an interest in modifying and developing ways to reintroduce extinct endemic plant species in previously devastated environments like those found on the planet Earth. Would you like to share with me your thoughts on this?”  
  
Nagata had to smile at the sudden animation which came to Maru’s body as he leaned forward and began expositing his ideas for using controlled environments and sample stocks, seeds recovered from archaeological contexts, and possible genetic modification of formerly native plant species so that they could adapt to the altered environment upon re-introduction. And while some of his ideas seemed a little far-reaching, Nagata was genuinely impressed with the amount of thought and research that had been poured into this topic by Maruyama. Their conversation stretched out well into a second hour before Nagata decided that it was time to make his offer.  
  
“So, Mr. Maruyama, I can tell that you’ve thought about the practical applications of this research if it were to get funded. What do you think about real-scenario testing of these methods?”  
  
Maru stopped mid-reach for his tea, staring a Nagata while he ran all possible interpretations of this question through his mind. “Are you saying that MotoTech might be considering funding this research for Earth?”  
  
“No. I’m saying that MotoTech is funding this research for Earth.” And with that Nagata knew that he had him. He was willing to bet that he’d had the same look on his face when MotoTech had offered him a job so many years ago. A chance to do what he loved— for the first time free from the limitations and bureaucracy of the Federation and Ministry “That is, if you’re willing to run it, Mr. Maruyama.”  
  
“Mr. Nagata, I can assure that I have never been more willing to do something in my life.”  
  
“Now, I have one final matter to discuss before we conclude this. Does your mother know that you’ve submitted an application to Moto Technologies?”  
  
Maru cast his glance down at his hands for a few beats while deciding how best to answer. It was a question he had heard his entire life and one he knew was coming. And while he would be eternally grateful to his family for the rest of his next seven lives for the opportunities they had given him in this one, he sometimes really regretted the other, smaller opportunities that their prestige and influence had cost him, too. Deciding that the best answer in this situation would be the truth, he nervously glanced back up at Mr. Nagata and answered. “Honestly, sir, no. She doesn’t.”  
  
“Excellent. Shall we keep it that way, then? The less the Federation knows about this project the better, by my assessment.” _ _  
  
__

 

o≒〇:･*o。゜

__  
  
_Yoko_  
  
__ And whatever you do- make sure that you never include any information you pick up from non-Federation-approved channels in your reports. Until something actually happens— in front of you— and even then preferably with witnesses to back you up— it’s best to just assume that it doesn’t exist as far as the Fed’s concerned.  
  
Yoko flipped back through the series of hand-written notes Nagase had left him before shipping out five years prior. He could probably recite them from memory alone, but he liked having them around to read whenever he was feeling lonely or bored— something which he experienced a lot being alone in the middle of a wilderness. Even his weekly teleconferences were something he looked forward to and those were little more than brain-numbing repetition of all the data he’d already read through in his daily transmissions.  
  
But the notes from Nagase were linked to memories of actual conversations and personalities, and so Yoko still had a tendency to prefer them to the teleconferences. While they had been infuriatingly vague back when he’s first read them, with hindsight Yoko now understood why— anything too detailed or deviating from the expected norm was only doomed to bring trouble.  
  
Yoko had been so confused as Nagase had explained to him that even though the mining companies had pulled out of the area, a number of their laborers had stuck around deciding to wait out the decision, hoping that the companies would be back in a couple of years. They hadn’t returned though, and most of the workers moved on to find other mining districts. The others had ingrained themselves into the local black market economy and underground network.  
  
Nagase had laughed at just how sheltered and naive Yoko was about these matters. He taught him how to spot looter’s caches and the proper channels for reporting any problems that should arise on the base’s premises. Anything that happened off the base? Best to just pretend it didn’t exist. The Federation preferred it that way.  
  
“But other than the miners,” Yoko had asked, “who else is involved in the black market? And how is it that you know so much about all of this stuff?”  
  
Nagase had paused for a second to stare at him before cracking a wide smile.  
  
“First question: prisoners. Our good friends back at the home office don’t like anyone off-planet knowing about it, but this is where they send the prisoners that no one cares about anymore. In most cases the guards don’t even bother to chase them if there’s a break— and there’s always a break. Second question: it’s always a good idea to have a Plan B. Follow me; I’ve got something to show you.”  
  
Yoko stood in front of the bunker that Nagase had brought him to that day over five years ago, notes in his hand. The building itself had to predate all the others on the base, and it probably should have been condemned a century ago. He hadn’t been back out to it once since that first visit, but after today’s teleconference he had decided that a visit was more than due.  
  
Yoko had been promoted. He was now “Sergeant Yokoyama,” which really wasn’t much to say considering that the only thing he’d had to do around here had been to study for his Corporal’s exams and then Sergeant’s. But a Sergeant he now was, and not only had his replacement for his transfer off-base not arrived two years prior, it seemed that now he was not going to be relieved of his post for at least another three more years.  
  
Glancing down at the notes again, Yoko had to resist the urge to facepalm at Nagase’s cramped penmanship.  
  
Super secret!! Don’t tell anyone!!! Passcode for “that” bunker: 12345  
  
Yoko punched in the code and swung the iron doors apart, marching past all sorts of equipment and artifacts predating the start of the asteroid storms and continuing down the stairs to a cellar room cut directly into the limestone. Inside it were bottles filling shelves going back for at least 6 rows. Wines, whiskeys— you name it it was in there, some of it of known labels, most of it moonshine picked up in trades with the occasional bootlegger who passed through. All of it highly illegal— possession of which was punishable by removal from the Military Forces and time in prison.  
  
Alcohol consumption had been illegal in within Federation territories for the better part of a century, but what did he care? Yoko was already serving time in prison. He might as well get some pleasure out of it, he figured. Grabbing the first three bottles he saw, he made his way back up the stairs and out the doors, slamming them behind him. If he was going to be stuck out here for another three years, he damn sure was gonna make sure he didn’t remember it.  
  
Popping the cork on the first bottle once he was back inside the barracks, Yoko poured himself a half-glass of the fragrant, amber liquid inside it. Raising the glass Yoko stared at the light reflecting through it for a moment before downing its contents in one swallow— and almost immediately choking half of it back up. Laughing as he wiped tears away from his eyes and coughing some more, he poured another shot into the glass, tears still streaming from his eyes.  
  
“Happy fucking birthday, Yoko. You made it to 26.” _ _  
__

  
  
o≒〇:･*o。゜

__  
  
_Maru_  
  
__ Only an idiot would try a landing in Wyoming in the middle of winter. But as it was the only time that MotoTech knew with the most certainty that they could get past the Federation guard ships orbiting Earth, the middle of winter it was— which clearly made them all idiots, Maru thought to himself with a laugh. Weather notwithstanding, the landing itself couldn’t have possibly gone smoother. Both of the federation cruisers had been relocated to the Southern Hemisphere to better intercept all of the sane people trying to enter the planet, allowing for Maru’s small landing craft to skirt its way in with a North Pole approach.  
  
Maru had seen thousands of pictures and countless hours of film footage of the area he would be researching in his preparation before leaving, but little of that had been the area in winter. He stared out the cockpit windows with his mouth hanging open. Long shadows stretched out over snowfields cast pink by the early morning light. Large drifts of snow were amassing in the wind against breaks of dead trees while a small herd of antelope scattered and ran as the ship passed overhead.  
  
“Antelope.” Maru whispered to himself, before turning to Kirkwood excitedly and pointing them out to him. “Look, Kirkwood! Antelope!!” He lifted the carrier bag higher so the large grey tabby could see outside but all it did was growl and hunch further back in the carrier. Maru “tsked” him as he set the bag back on the set beside him while he focused on the significance of this. There had been no documented evidence of any animal life existing on the NorthWestern quadrant. Maru didn’t know if that was because they hadn’t been seen, or because the Ministry of Science was deliberately suppressing that sort of information. Either way, they were here. And if antelope were here that meant that there had to be growing vegetation nearby for them to graze.  
  
Up on the horizon he could start to make out the edge of the Rawlins Uplift sprinkled with giant wind turbines, their long and slender arms still turning as gracefully as ever in the wind. He switched over to autopilot and let the ship take over landing duties. To the right, Maru spotted a makeshift runway lit by flares with a figure waving them down. Maru racked his brain momentarily— what was the name of the contact Nagata had set him up with?  
  
The ship rolled into a stop on the landing strip and Maru saw to his respirator and eyewear before he remembered. He reached over to key open the door and finished gathering his basic materials. The rest could wait to be transported later. Stepping out into the blast of frigid air he looked up to greet his welcoming committee.  
  
The man was standing off to the side of the door, bundled up in a heavy looking wool parka and matching snowboots. On his head was what appeared to be a hand-crocheted stocking cap in the shape of a Draconian Water Lemur, droopy hands hung down on either side of his face, set in stern appraisal of Maru. In place of safety goggles were sunglasses, there was no respirator in sight.  
  
“Mr. Nakai—?” Maru asked cautiously.  
  
“Lose the mask.” Nakai said, reaching out to take some of Maru’s bags for him.  
  
“Lose the— but—” Maru stumbled over his words as his brain raced to keep up with the situation before lamely finishing. “Won’t I get sick without it, Sir?”  
  
Nakai stopped, arms crossed and legs akimbo as he dryly appraised the flustered idiot in front of him.  
  
“Do I look like I’m sick, Maruyama?”  
  
“No?” Maru quietly mumbled.  
  
“Then lose the mask. Hydrogen sulfide readings around here dropped down into the safe range about 4 years ago. You’ll be fine, now let’s go! It’s cold out here.”  
  
“Mr. Nakai—?” Maru asked again as he followed the shorter man back to wherever he was going.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I like your hat.”  
  
A wide smile lit up his face and he turned to face Maru before ushering him into a reclaimed bunker. “Thanks! I make them. I can sell you one, too!” Nakai stared for a moment at the bag hanging off of Maru’s shoulder before slowly shaking his head. “And I do not even want to know how you managed to get a respirator on that cat, but I am not helping you take it off.” _ _  
__

  
  
o≒〇:･*o。゜

__  
  
_Subaru_  
  
__ Subaru couldn’t believe his luck. Kusanagi had been getting cockier and cockier lately, having Subaru hack into more and more high-ranking Federation officials’ offices and homes. But his latest demand had just been golden. It was as though fate were finally smiling on him. He happened to already know one of the guards here from one of his previous detention centers. Apparently Kusanagi hadn’t thought to check the transfers of staff members before shuffling him around.  
  
Subaru cast a knowing look at the guard as he came to collect him for the assignment.  
  
“Hashimoto,” he nodded while stepping out the door, knapsack already in tow. There was no point in leaving it behind- he wouldn’t be coming back here anyway.  
  
“‘Morning, Subaru.” Hashimoto didn’t even bother cuffing him as he led him down the hall to the telecommunications office.  
  
The hack and tap process itself took Subaru hardly any time at all. The data being gathered off these taps was being routed to Kusanagi’s personal servers as usual, buried behind a series of redirects and proxies so thick that it would take even Subaru himself hours to dismantle.  
  
Seven hours and 36 minutes, to be exact.  
  
Subaru pushed his chair back from the bank of monitors and reached his arms high above his head in a stretch. Standing, he scooped up his knapsack and indicated through the observation glass to the guards that he was done. Hashimoto was back to meet him at the door.  
  
“You ready, Subaru?” Hashimoto smiled goofily.  
  
Like a giant kid, Subaru thought and smiled back. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” The two stood in the room a few seconds waiting for the all-clear on Hashimoto’s radio indicating that all camera’s leading back to the transport dock had been taken off-line. “So where am I headed to this time?”  
  
“Kusanagi’s orders say that you are to be transferred to the Horologium Penitentiary immediately upon completion of your task. The ship will be leaving from Dock 27.” They paused outside the loading bay for Dock 13, temporary home for a small supply transport. “Now this ship, just happens to be making a long-distance haul out to some town in the middle of nowhere, current home of some nut who’s trying to grow radishes out in the middle of a desert. Word is he’s always open to company and he should be able to set you up with any other supplies you might need.” Hashimoto pulled out a small duffel bag and handed it to Subaru. “I was able to get most of the things on your list. Accessing the bank accounts went fine, by the way. I’ve got what’s left of the money in here for you. It looks like Kusanagi wasn’t aware of your alias, Mr. Sanchez. So how much time do you have?”  
  
Subaru followed the abrupt transition smoothly. He had to admit he was gonna miss this kid a little after he was gone.  
  
“The hack will only remain hidden for two hours. After that, Ambassador Maruyama’s security will register it immediately and begin tracing it back. Since there’s no longer any interference between it and Kusanagi, I figure he’ll be receiving a visit from some very irate government officials in about two-and-a-half hours.” Subaru reached out to shake the guard’s hand. “Seriously though, thanks for this. I owe you. You know this won’t be the last you hear about this from him.”  
  
“Pshh~” Hashimoto waved away the concern. "How can any of us possibly know anything about a person who doesn’t exist and who’s never been here? Now get out of here and have fun playing dead on Earth.”

  
  
o≒〇:･*o。゜

__  
  
_Yoko_  
  
__ It was getting to the point where Yoko loathed his weekly conference calls. The days of the teleconferences had gone by— the satellite uplink router broken months ago and no word yet on when a new one would be sent out. Yoko figured it was for the best— this way his bosses couldn’t see the blatant derision on his face throughout their duration.  
  
“...and I’m sorry to bring this up again, Sir, but as of yesterday the April supply delivery is now two months late.”  
  
“Yes, and we’ve spoken to Transport about it. They have guaranteed me that it should be there within the week.” Yoko rolled his eyes while spinning around in his chair even faster, knowing that line all-too-well to actually believe it any more.  
  
“Sir, rumor on the network is that they’ve hit a patch of high grade cobalt out in the southwest Idaho quadrant. Has there been any word on possible transfers out that way?” Yoko tossed the notion onto the table in a thinly veiled attempt to get any new, local information out of someone.  
  
“There’s been nothing confirmed right now. And besides- that area’s so torn up that it’s hard to tell which readings are accurate and which ones are just false echoes bounced off all that silica over there. Why? You hoping to trade in your vast grey wasteland for their red wasteland?” Yoko frowned at the lame attempt at humor from his commanding officer.  
  
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t say ‘No’ to any change of scenery right about now.” Yoko dryly responded. “That or some company. Or a dog...”  
  
“I’ll make a note of that here, Sergeant, and thank you for letting us know. I’d like you to start including updates about the well-being of your crew in your weekly progress logs from here out—”  
  
“Sir, pardon the interruption, but you do realize that my “crew” consists entirely of just me—”  
  
“Good, good. Well, until next time then, Sergeant Yokoyama. Signing off.” The dismissal was unmistakable and Yoko stared dumbly at the radio for a minute before launching the receiver across the room where it shattered against the bunker wall.  
  
It’s not like there weren’t plenty of those around to replace it with. _ _  
__

  
  
o≒〇:･*o。゜

 

 

_Subaru_  

  
The tall and run-down building on the outskirts of town had once been a museum in its history, before being reinstated as a Federal prison during the late 21st century. Part of the museum still existed in the form of the prison library— and it was the first building Subaru made sure to check out upon his arrival. Inside were books describing in detail the climate and terrain of the area known as the Rawlins Uplift, as well as maps of the town as it had aged through the centuries. He still had the name of the contact Hashimoto had given him before he left, but he just wasn’t feeling quite sociable enough to make house calls yet. After studying one of the more recent maps he found exactly what he had been looking for and waved goodbye to the abandoned prison as he began his trek across the city.

Most of the houses in Rawlins had long since given way to the neglect of time. Subaru walked briskly, not taking time out for sightseeing but still able to get the impact of it all. “ _It’s like walking through a scene in a movie about a post-apocalyptic town,”_ he thought before correcting himself. He _was_ in a post-apocalyptic town. Near the edge of town he saw something that halted him in his tracks.

Rising up behind the rusted-out shell of what he assumed was once a mobile home stood two palm trees made of what Subaru assumed was aluminum. Picking his way through the refuse surrounding them he made his way to the base of the smaller one, which stood a little under six feet high, the other looked to be two feet taller. He placed his hand on the textured trunk and then rapped his knuckles against it. “ _Yup. Aluminum._ ” He was definitely going to have to come back for these later.

The building he was heading to was set just outside the perimeter of the city, in the opposite direction of the prison. From the street below it looked like nothing more than a small concrete bunker surrounded by the remains of a chain-link fence— no different from any of the other buildings both built and abandoned during the last failed repopulation attempts of the previous century. This one, however, predated all of those. Subaru kicked in the door relatively easily and dumped his bags on the floor and fished out a flashlight. A test flip of the light switch next to the doorframe confirmed that he would be needing some new solar kits in the near future and he added that to his mental shopping list.

Aside from being in need of a desperate cleaning, the interior of the building was in pretty good shape. Subaru had to admit he was a little amazed that everything there had been left alone. All the wiring, plumbing, tile work— it was still intact for the most part. Subaru unlocked the bolts on back door and stepped back out into the blinding light of day. Behind the building was a long, rectangular patio with an overgrown walkway leading back to a well house and large transmission tower. Now this, was what Subaru had been itching to see. Subaru looked it over and found no damage beyond some superficial weathering and a need for an updated solar kit, too. Stepping back, his eyes fell on a small, faded placard next to the tower bearing the call-letters of the former radio station and he smiled.

_KUWI 89.9 FM_

“Koo-wee? Koo-wai?” He played around with different readings out loud while pulling down the aluminum panels covering the building’s windows. “Kyu-wee?” Now _that_ one he kind of liked. “Q.E. Yeah, I like that.”

 

  
o≒〇:･*o。゜

 

_Yoko_

Yoko finished his sign-off call sequence and re-started the secondary encryption cycles for their broadcast station’s frequency before kicking back in his chair. He still had a while before he had to go out and check the ph balances on the reservoir so he decided to tinker some more with the old AM transmitter that he’d dug out of Nagase’s storage bunker a few days ago.

Yoko wasn't sure why he still bothered to do this, if for no other reason than going through the motions. Nagase had mentioned to him that you could occasionally pick up broadcasts from some of the people who lived out in the wild, but Yoko had yet to hear anything aside from endless static come out of that box. Hadn’t stopped him from trying though, it would seem. He flipped the scanner on and set it to cycle through the frequencies while he went to heat up his dinner.

Confirmation had come through that there would be no work done this summer out in Idaho. Yoko had already known this, but having an official report of it actually helped to settle his frustration at the situation. After all, it seemed almost fitting that this land- abandoned centuries ago after the collapse of the oil and Uranium boomtowns, was once again being to abandoned by the government that had hoped to build it up. Settling down into his chair Yoko shoved his food around on his plate for a while before setting it down entirely. Closing his eyes he leaned back in the chair and thought of both everything and nothing, allowing the static to wash over him like a wave of snow.

  

  
o≒〇:･*o。゜

 

 

_Maru_

Maru may not have known much about how his life on this planet was going to pan out when he arrived, but he knew one thing for sure now— he was a nerd in love, and he was never, ever going to go home.

After more failed test crops the first year than he’d care to admit, Maru had eventually figured out the right balance of fertilizer and soil enhancers needed to produce success. Since then he’d been able to expand this plant and seed stock to include over 30 foods and several herbs on top of a number of native flora. His workspace now took up almost the entire area inside what used to be a school football field and several of the outbuildings alongside it.

He trekked up the hilly city street leading to the field while talking animatedly to Kirkwood who chimed in with an occasional chirp or meow from his carrier. Maru was determined that today would be the day he would coax a response out of the Columbine and Fireweed. He arrived at his makeshift office and let Kirkwood out so he could take up his favorite position as a guard-cat outside the entrance. Firing up the burner Maru prepped for Tea and filed some loose paperwork while waiting for the water to be done. Making a note to go up and introduce himself to the new guy staying at the old station sometime this week. Afterward he began his walk through, inspecting his seedling flats and baby sprouts before arriving at the Columbine.

“Alright you.” Maru began, taking a sip of his tea as he glared down at the sickly looking sprouts. “You and I need to have a talk.”

 

 

 o≒〇:･*o。゜

 

_Subaru_

A giant grey cat was sunning itself on one of the tables while stretched out on its back, front paws curled up under its chin while his tail flipped lazily back-and-forth, back-and-forth. As Subaru continued towards it the cat lazily tilted its head and opened an eye half-way to inspect the guest before determining that he was no threat and going back to his nap. Subaru chuckled and reached out carefully to give him a scritch under its chin before approaching the opened door.

Inside was amazing. It was like stepping into another word— packed with table upon table filled with more plants than Subaru had ever seen in one space for ages. Off towards the back a man wearing an open, knee-length lab coat over a T-shirt and jeans was tending to what looked to be sprouts of some sort. As Subaru moved a little further inside he could faintly hear the man singing a song that had been popular back when Subaru had been a kid. Only the lyrics to this version had been changed, instead singing words of encouragement to the plants. Subaru fought the urge to bust up laughing and instead cleared his throat before offering and inquisitive “Hello?”

“Oh! Hello!” Maru excitedly hurried forward, tripping over a couple of planting trays on the way before offering his hand. “You must be our new ex-con! I’m Maru, Maruyama Ryuhei.”

“Shibutani Subaru. And I hear you’re the crazy radish guy,” Subaru replied, accepting the handshake and returning his smile. “Met your cat on the way in. Seems like he’s adjusted pretty well to living out here.”

“Right?” Maru offered Subaru a seat and reached over to lift a small kettle off of an equally small stove. “Tea?” He clicked on the burner at Subaru’s nod of assent. “I was worried though. He refused to have anything to do with me for almost two weeks after we got here. He’d just curl up in his carrier and mope all day. So, how are _you_ adjusting out here?”

“Pretty good I guess.” Maru shrugged a little at the question, glancing around the room a little awkwardly. “Actually, probably a lot better than I thought I would, but then— I _have_ been living pretty much by myself for the past several years, so I guess it’s not too big a stretch for me.”

Maru handed Subaru his tea and leaned back a bit in his own chair. “Good to hear. It took me a while longer to adjust, but I was also the idiot that decided to come out here in the middle of the blizzard season, so...” Maru laughed at his own memories before continuing. “That said, if there’s anything that you might need let me know. And if I don’t have it here then I know for sure Nakai can get it for you.”

“Nakai?”

“Yeah. He runs a sheep farm southeast of here- just out past Saratoga. If there’s anything that you need, he’s the one to ask. In fact, he’s already got a request out for some extra solar kits and generators for you. It usually takes about 2 months for someone to get their hands on them and then get them here,” he explained. “So we went ahead and put out some feelers as soon as we got the word that someone new was coming.”

“Wow. Um, thank you.” Subaru was somewhat amazed and taken aback by this. He had never before run into people so willing to help someone that they didn’t even know. “You guys are the nicest people with connections in the criminal underworld that I’ve ever met.”

Maru laughed at his description, and wondered for a second what his mother’s reaction to him being linked to criminal activity of any sort would be. “Well, in all fairness, Nakai’s the one with the connections. I just grow the vegetables he trades with. Which reminds me, the new crops won’t be ready for another week or two, but if you’d like anything you’re welcome to it, too. And if there’s anything else I can help you out with”

“Actually,” Subaru smiled brilliantly. “Now that you mention it, there _is_ something I could use a hand with.”

 

“You know,” Maru panted as he stopped to wipe sweat off his face with a small towel, his other hand leaning against the coarse trunk of the palm tree. “We could have just called Nakai up here with his truck to move these.”

“Aww but what—” Subaru gasped out a breath before hauling the smaller of the trees further up the hillside. “—would be the fun of that?”

“Fine, but you owe me.” Maru hauled the tree up another meter before resting again, the realization that they were only half-way up to the building making him want to cry a little.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got something you’ll love after we finish this. Promise.”

 

And Maru had to admit, leaning back in a chair on the patio, under the shade of the very tree he had hauled up there, that it was a pretty nice set up.

“Here you go.” Subaru came back out carrying a couple of drinks and handed Maru one. “Sorry it’s not cold, no ice yet,” he apologized sheepishly. “But I can guarantee you it has a kick.” He tilted his glass at Maru before taking a sip. Maru cautiously sniffed at the beverage, his eyebrows jumping high as he recognized the aroma.

“Whiskey? Where’d you get a hold of this?” He sipped it slowly, savoring the flavors as they rolled past his tongue. Subaru frowned a little at the discovery that Maru was no stranger to alcohol, his reaction to it much more elegant than his own first encounter with it had been the other day.

“Down in the cellar. There’s actually quite a few bottles down there. So tell me, how is it that the kid of a high-ranking, law-abiding ambassador has experience with booze?”

Maru scoffed a little at the notion before taking another sip. “Trust me, if I learned anything growing up it was that if there’s money— there’s booze. Legality be damned,” a statement to which he toasted with his glass. “So, what’s in the box?”

Subaru held up his hand in a silent request for a minute before running back inside and returning carrying a portable generator and what appeared to be a small suitcase. “Okay, so it took me awhile to figure this out, but check this out.”

Setting both the generator and case on the ground he opened up the suitcase to reveal a turntable and power cable, which he plugged into the generator.

“Oh my God, is that— is that a record player? No one’s seen one of those outside of Arts museums in over a century!!” Maru was immediately on the ground across from Subaru, watching in awe as Subaru reached over to the large box behind him and lifted the lid to reveal a single row of flat, square envelopes stacked on end inside of it. He pulled out a record at random and gently slid the vinyl disk out of its sleeve before turning the cover over to Maru who held it as though it were a priceless artifact. He flipped the player on and carefully placed the needle on the edge of the record, not about to mention the 5 disks he’d managed to almost destroy while trying to get everything figured out.

Leaning back he closed his eyes and took a long draw off of his glass as the hypnotic strains of Herb Alpert filled the air. Glancing over at Maru’s stunned awe he smiled. “So I think I’m gonna set up the radio station and play these.”

“Like broadcast? Over the air?” Maru looked up from the cover and blinked at Subaru. “But how?” Doesn’t the Federation monitor all the air frequencies out here?”

Subaru slowly shook his head while smiling as he leaned further back to rest against a palm tree. “Nope. Not AM. They ditched that frequency almost a century ago. Nothing out in space runs on it anymore. I’d just have to broadcast out on an AM signal.”

“Seriously? That’s awesome. Hey,” Maru pointed at a small sticker on the album sleeve reading _property of_ “I have no idea who this N.P.R. person was, but man they had a pretty sweet music collection.”

 

 

o≒〇:･*o。゜

 

_Yoko_

“Sir, I can assure you that there have been zero supply drops made at or around this facility in the last eight months. I have walked every square inch of this base and a two-mile outside radius every week and there has been _nothing_. Are you _sure_ they have their data correct?” Yoko sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew where this conversation was heading and he was not looking forward to having to uphold his part of it.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant, but the report is very clear. The drop was made three days ago. I don’t think that I have to stress the crucial need to recover all of the materials before they are discovered by persons other than the Federation, Yokoyama.”

“No, Sir. You don’t. I understand, and I will expand my search perimeter starting tomorrow morning. Thank you for the information, Sir.”

“I’ll look forward to your report when you return, Yokoyama. Good night.” A low static hum filled the air and Yoko reached over to disconnect the transmitter and start the signal re-encryption program. A quick glance at his watch told him it was almost 21:53. Spinning around in his chair he grabbed the old AM receiver and powered it up. It had been two months since the first day his scanner had caught the broadcast. He’d only been able to listen to it for a few minutes before the program had come to a close but the next day he had made a point to leave the radio on all day and at seven minutes ‘til midnight it had come to life. Listening to the hour-long program had almost brought Yoko to tears. Sure, he hadn’t ever heard any of the songs or artists played before— according to the show’s deejay they seemed to all be songs dating back almost two-and-a-half centuries— but Yoko didn’t care. He had been so starved for contact with someone— any voice different from the stiff and lifeless ones he spoke with every week— that he considered the show to be a savior of sorts. The deejay made sure to never give a name other than that of the program and general station one, The Bamboo Room on Radio Q.E., but Yoko had felt connected and alive for that hour of listening and he had caught every broadcast since then.

Yoko killed the lights in the room and flopped back onto his bed, staring up into the darkness around him as a jazzy number by a person the deejay named as Stan Getz. He went through his schedule for the morning a couple of times before just letting his mind get lost in the saxaphone and melody. He was asleep before the song even finished.

The summer solstice was around the corner, meaning longer days under an increasingly hot sun. Yoko made sure that he was up and out the door before it had even risen, but by the time he had reached the outpost gate it was hovering above the horizon and already oppressive. He redistributed the weight of the water packs on his back before checking his heading and continuing forward towards nothing. Yoko already knew that he wasn’t going to find anything out here, and by the time noon rolled around he had covered 8 miles of area, all of it confirming just that— nothing. Turning back towards the south Yoko began making his way towards the old highway that cut south of the town. A looming darkness hung low out on the western horizon and Yoko wondered if it was a thunderstorm heading his way. _“Probably time to head back”_ he decided while pulling his rain poncho out of his pack just in case.

But it wasn’t a thunderstorm, he quickly discovered, and it was moving much, much faster than most thunderstorms too. The closer it drew to him the easier it became to make out the ominous billows rising up from the dirt to the sky.

_Sandstorm_. And here he was out in the middle of nowhere without so much as a rock or a sagebrush big enough to hide behind. As visibility slowly got worse and worse Yoko pressed forward, trying to find anything to help buffer the swirling, almost razor-like winds before accepting that it was time to stop. He found a spot to sit down next to a couple of low shrubs and pulled the poncho over his head to serve as a makeshift tent. The sands had ebraided his goggles so much that Yoko couldn’t even see through them any more.

“Fucking fabulous,” Yoko muttered to himself as the dire nature of his situation hit him. Shaking his head he let out an exasperated sigh and resigned himself to fate, letting the stinging desert sands consume him.

  

  
o≒〇:･*o。゜

 

_Yoko_

_...cheia de graça,  
É ela, menina, que vem e que passa,  
Num doce balanço, a caminho do mar._

Strains of what Yoko recognized as saxophone and piano filtered through his brain in a dance both playful and sad. His head was splitting— worse than any hangover he had ever experienced after raiding Nagase’s stash of rotgut alcohol. Patches of light swam against darkness behind his eyelids and slowly, painfully, forced one eye open to see what was causing it.

And promptly slammed it back shut, emitting a low groan which only served to remind him of the ravaged state of his throat. Swallowing painfully he attempted to process his surroundings. By now he was almost positive that the music he was hearing _was_ in fact music. It wasn’t being played live, but it was much clearer than anything he had ever heard scratching through the reception on his radio back at his outpost. In fact he was willing to bet a year of his non-existent rations that it was most-definitely _not_ Federation-approved music and not a Federation-approved broadcast. The lyrics, in some language he had never heard before, had a nostalgic melody that gently faded away into scratchy, static-filled air before resuming in another piece.

_“A palm tree?”_ The thought suddenly occurred to Yoko as he once again tried to convince himself to open his eyes. He was pretty sure that it had a been palm fronds swaying above him but that would just be ridiculous, right? Covering his eyes with both hands he opened them, gradually pulling back his hands and allowing them to adjust to the light.

_“No,”_ he thought as he squinted at the room above him. _“That’s definitely a palm tree.”_

“Oi.” An unexpected voice from behind where Yoko was lying spooked him. The resulting yelp ringing like a bell in his already splitting head. “You made up your mind yet if you’re gonna die or not?” The voice gradually become louder as its owner moved to stand next to Yoko’s head. Silhouetted against the light filtering through the branches he leaned over the soldier, long and unkempt hair falling forward as he did so. “Because if you’re not planning on dying anytime soon I could use some help bringing in some supplies.”

Yoko scowled up at the man who simply continued to stare back at him.

“So I’m not already dead?” Yoko croaked out after giving up on the impromptu staring contest. The other man continued to look down, his stone expression holding for a few more seconds before cracking into a face-splitting smile, righting himself, and turning to walk off.

“Sorry, soldier. You get to stick around with us at least a little while more. Bathroom’s around the corner if you want to use the shower.”

 

After prying himself up off the concrete patio Yoko staggered his way into the house and the bathroom. On the counter there was a towel and an oversized leopard print robe hang from a hook next to it. One look in the mirror removed any doubt in Yoko’s mind as to whether he’d take up the other man’s offer or not. He looked like death warmed over and battered in mud.

It was the aroma of coffee— and not the cheap imitation crap he’d been living off of for the past nine years— that greeted him when he exited the bathroom, pulling the tie on the robe tighter around his waist. His clothes would need a thorough power-washing before he would get back into them. Pausing to get his bearings Yoko’s mouth fell open at the sight of the room around him.

What he has assumed to be a “house” appeared to be anything but. Low, round tables and chairs were sprinkled around the room, providing a pleasant complement to the rattan walls and— Yoko couldn’t believe he was seeing this— thatched ceilings. The walls were accented with various accents and album covers further adding to the feel of the room, which Yoko could only describe as “Tiki Lounge Inspired.”

“Dinner’s ready!” a voice hollered from through the far doorway. Making his way in that direction Yoko was surprised again to see not one, but two men in the room— the shorter one he had spoken to earlier, and another, taller one who was presently loading up bowls with something that could only be a gift from God. His stomach let out an audible growl as he sat at the table, prompting the other two to burst into laughter.

“This smells amazing,” Yoko commented as the tall one set bowls down on the table and joined them. “What is it?”

“Lamb stew.”

“Lamb... stew? Like _real_ lamb stew? It has to be real, I’ve never seen anything that looked this good come out of rations. How is this even possible?”

“Yup. Nakai— the man who found you out there lying by the road— raises sheep and the vegetables I brought from my gardens. My name’s Maruyama Ryuhei, by the way. This other guy is Subaru.”

Recognition suddenly struck Yoko and he pointed, talking around a mouthful of food. “Hey! You’re that scientist they said was coming out here. The crazy kid who got here a few years ago?”

“Guilty.” Maru laughed off their guest’s bad manners, placing his utensils neatly next to his plate before taking a sip of his tea.

“May I ask your name, Sergeant...was it?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Yokoyama. Yokoyama Yuu. It’s very nice to meet you.”

 

After dinner was over and the mess cleaned up Maru announced that it was time for him to be heading home, worrying that it was already past the time he usually feeds Kirkwood.

“Kirkwood?” Yoko asked as he changed back into his now-clean uniform.

“His cat. He gets cranky when Maru doesn’t feed him.” Subaru answered.

“You brought a cat through space?” Yoko exclaimed. “Dammit, I'm _so_ getting a dog now.

“Hey, Yoko, I’ve got something you’d probably be interested in,” Subaru said and gestured with his head back out the porch door. “Catch ya later, Maru.”

Yoko tossed a quick good-bye out to Maru, too, as he followed Subaru out and past an enormous transmission tower.

“Waaaait a minute— _you’re_ Radio Q.E.?!?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. We try to keep that part quiet though. Here you go,” Subaru pulled a tarp off a large crate labeled as property of the Galactic Federation. “This came crashing down just outside of town the other day. Look familiar to you?”

Yoko cracked open the crate and stared blankly at its contents for a beat before collapsing down into a squat and erupting into high-pitched, manic laughter; tears streaking down from the corners of his eyes as he rocked back on his heels a few times before flopping back to lay on the ground.

MREs and respirators. Inside the box was what looked to be a year’s worth of MREs and the backlog of respirators and parts which had been on order for the past 6 months.

Yoko’s laughter finished with a sigh as he sat back up to deliver a half-hearted glare at the side of the crate. They hadn’t even bothered to send a person out to check on him. They just launched a half-assed attempt at a high-altitude drop, missing the base’s drop range by over twenty miles.

_“You know what?” Yoko thought to himself as he formulated a new resolution. “Fuck this_ code of ethics _and fuck this Federation._ ” Standing up he wiped the dirt off his hands and seat of his pants.  
“So,” Yoko said, turning to face Subaru who was sprawled in a hammock strung between two of his fake palm trees. “Tell me about these “buyers” of yours.”


End file.
